


Things Left Unsaid

by petit_moineau



Series: He's Not There [1]
Category: Batgirl (Comics), DCU (Comics), Grayson (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: 5 Times, F/M, Voicemail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 19:15:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7281256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petit_moineau/pseuds/petit_moineau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barbara knows, rationally, that the afterlife doesn't have cell service, but she keeps leaving Dick voicemails anyway.  Or: four times Barbara leaves Dick a voicemail and one time she doesn't.  Set roughly before Batgirl #45 and Grayson #12 for the first four times and afterwards for the last time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things Left Unsaid

**Author's Note:**

> This was mostly a challenge for myself to see if I can write solely in dialogue. I'm heavy on description, normally, and I wanted to see if I could still write something that wasn't total crap without any description at all. Also, I'm sorry about how bad the title pun is--they're things Babs _thinks_ are left unsaid because she thinks Dick is dead...get it? Also also, the timing of Voicemail #2 is not a mind slip--I did it on purpose. Dick disappears before James Jr.'s death in this universe.
> 
> Recommended listening: For the First Time by The Script

**i.  voicemails to the recently deceased**

“Richard, it’s Barbara.  I know how dumb this is.  I know you can’t hear this.  And I always kind of hated people who waxed pathetic about people _after_ they’re gone.  But I took you for granted, okay?  I thought we’d live forever.  We should have.  I kind of want to tell you about your funeral, but it would be redundant, wouldn’t it?  There’s so much I never told you, and I wish to God I had.  I’m still holding out a little bit of hope that this is a joke and you’re faking it…though if you are, I personally promise you I will beat the hell out of you with those sticks you like so much.  But, oh, God.  In case you’re not faking?  In case the afterlife has cell service?  Damn it, Dick, you’re my best friend.  I love you.  I hope you knew that.

**ii.  i felt the cracking of his spine as if it were my own**

“I’m glad you’re not here.  That’s the first and only time I’ll ever say that, and I’m so sorry that I mean it.  I’m glad you’re not here because you would hate what I’ve turned into.  I used to accuse you of looking too much to the future and never thinking about the past, and you accused me of just the opposite, dwelling in the past so much it blinded me to what was in front of me.  Not being able to let go of the past caught up with me.  I have failed you so badly.  Everything you stood for, everything you were.  I don’t even know how to _tell_ you this.  My brother took my mother.  Oh, that’s another thing you missed: my mom came back to town.  We’re not friends yet, but I can be around her now.  He _took_ her and I just…he went over the rails at the pier by the aquarium.  My dad saw it.  He thinks Batgirl is a murderer.  I _am_.”

**iii.  deus ex magica**

“Yeah, so.  This is going to be short because I haven’t slept in literally three days and every fiber of my terrifyingly rational being rejects everything that has happened in those three days.  But I sort of…went to another planet that technically does not exist according to NASA?  And Bruce shoved some apocalyptic crystal into Damian’s chest?  And he’s not dead anymore?  These aren’t questions, at least I don’t _think_ they are.  My stomach definitely remembers the reunion dinner Alfred conjured out of thin air, my ears definitely remember the sound of Bruce blowing up the cave, and my fist definitely remembers punching Jason in the face, and I swear it was at least half an accident.  But shadow planets ruled by angry giant boar men do not exist.  Resurrection does not exist.  Dead is dead.  Except when it isn’t. …Damian misses you.

**iv.  auld lang syne**

“I know it’s not really New Year’s, but you know me; I always thought the ‘new year, new you’ thing so lame.  This time, though, I don’t think I can wait until January 1 for a new start.  And I don’t have to.  I got into Burnside College’s master’s program in quantitative forensics.  Basically I’m designing an algorithm that not only maps crime, but seeks to determine the relative _cause_ of the crime—so the tool can eventually be a preventative measure.  Ha, how’s _that_ for a humble brag?  All the hipster jokes I’ve suffered aside—mostly from Dinah—I’m glad to be moving, even if it _is_ to Burnside.  I need to start over, even if it’s getting out of Cherry Hill.  Know what I really want?  I want you to be here.  You’d tell me I’m already the smartest person you know and I don’t need any more school.  You’d take me up on top of a roof somewhere and we’d split a bottle of wine and stay up all night, just being Dick and Babs…

**v. wear your blue dress**

“Babs?”

“Richard, you _do_ know how to answer your phone!”

“I’ve been...not important.  I’m coming home.”

“When?”

“As soon as I can get there, but realistically, this afternoon.”

“For how long?”

“For good.”

“Spyral?”

“Finished.”

“I guess you have a lot of catching me up to do.”

“Like all the voicemails you left me?”

“You mean you listened?”

“Barbara, of _course_ I listened.  Will you…will you let me take you out for dinner?”

“What, no slick charm?”

“Absolutely none.  I’ll turn it off just for you.”

“Oh, really?”

“Well, maybe not completely.  But I’m serious: I really _do_ want to take you out.  Properly.”

“Well, damn.  What’s the occasion, Boy Wonder?”

“Just you, being alive.  Me, being newly alive.  Me and you.”

“Are we talking something familiar, like that all-night diner you like, or something fancy?”

“Fancy.  Definitely.  We have so much to celebrate.”

“Charity gala fancy or church with your grandmother fancy?”

“Hm…you know that gorgeous blue dress you have?  The one you wore to Bruce’s birthday party?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you…?”

“For you, yeah.”

“The sweetest phrase in the English language, truly.  Followed up closely by ‘I love you, Dick Grayson, and you are the most remarkable, handsome, funny—‘”

“I’m hanging up now.”

**Author's Note:**

> So I really want to make this into a series. Or two. One series of Dick's family leaving him ghostly voicemails, and one series that is unrepentant Dick/Babs nonsense, following with that fancy dinner they're going to have.


End file.
